Original Work
by Kat.Bites
Summary: poems and rantings. rated for often dark and sick content. yay.
1. ruined

_i saw, i smelled what he did to you girl._

_and to be frank, the thought makes my innards curl:_

_how he preyed on your ripe insecurities, that thorn in your side is alive_

_and it's killing me._

_obscure records entombed in his room with mechanical lust._

_diapered, desolate, middle-aged doom._

_on your knees in his downtrodden, sht eating, grin of a room_

_if only you'd meet me here soon._

**Ruined**

She screamed into the darkness as she awoke with a start. It took a few moments to realize she was alone…and while she was never truly safe, at least she was in less danger than she felt she has been a moment ago. As she sat up, she tried to tell herself not to cry. Tears flooded her eyes, but she bit her knuckle to prevent sobs from accompanying them. She wiped her sweaty forehead with the edge of her blanket and just kept repeating in her head that she was safe, that it wasn't real.

But it was real wasn't it? Everything she'd just dreamt was the sick sad truth of everything that had passed. It might not bother her as much if she didn't dream it almost every night: a nightmare that had wormed its way into her dreams, leaching from her real life. Her breathing had returned to normal, so she got up and started walking around, stretching her sleepy muscles as she did so. The sky was still dark and a look to her alarm clock told her 3:58. This had to stop. Fearful adrenaline kept her feeling awake now, but she knew she'd be close to passing out by noon. She turned again towards the window, her focus on the dream catcher hanging from the curtain rod. She felt so silly for buying it; she'd found it in a store a few weeks ago and bought it, figuring she'd hang it and see if it helped with her nightmares. But it didn't. Probably because she didn't believe in it.

But then again, what did she have to believe in anymore? The stupid dream catcher: string beads and feathers could not cure her fears. Police couldn't find her. God couldn't save her and pry his knife away from her neck on that night which gives her still so many nightmares. Her dreams would not let her forget even a single venomous detail. She still felt his blade tracing circles on her hips and arms, teasing her, and making her wait for the cuts that still scarred her body. She still felt his body on hers; he had the coldest heat she would ever feel. She still felt her own tears rolling down her face as she wondered why no one was looking for her, why God wasn't listening to her. She still remembered her own blood dripping down her body. But worst of all, she still remembered his face. She could dismiss her nightmares as nothing more than nightmares if it were not for his face: the face of a man whom she had trusted with everything, even her life.

The man who she had trusted with her life…had ruined it completely, destroyed her very being. She'd loved him, and always thought he was so handsome. But she hated him now, and now thought his face was ugly, because she knew what sickness that pretty face concealed. Her parents taught her not to talk to strangers when she was little, but they never taught her that sometimes the closest friends can be the most sinister strangers. She thought about going back to bed, but dismissed the thought immediately; knowing her sleep would not be peaceful. It would never be peaceful. He would never leave her alone. She walked into her kitchen and poured water into the coffee machine, the red light turning on in time with her finger flicking the switch. The red light reminded her of her prison's illumination. A dark orange light casting a doom onto the stone walls of his basement. The floor littered with nothing but her, and stains from her own blood. She cringed at the memory of the pain he caused her on a hunt for his own pleasure. The fact that even now she couldn't keep a boyfriend, and could barely keep her friends. She had no idea where her life could possibly go from here, she felt so trapped by her own terror of a man who was no longer a threat. She remembered the last morning she spent in captivity: the morning she woke up and decided that it was all over. He walked in, always armed with that sick smile on his face, and she pounced. She remembered the satisfaction of puncturing his skin with his own filthy knife. Tearing muscle and puncturing veins, the thought made her sick, but the deed set her free. Her first breath of fresh air was accompanied by water as it dripped from the sky onto her bloody face. And she ran. She ran to the people who didn't look for her, to the police who couldn't find her, and away from the God who couldn't save her. They kept her in the hospital for a week, probably only because she refused to say a word. Wouldn't tell them where she had been, who had done this to her, or how she'd gotten out. She'd killed a man, and she would take that with her to the grave.

Her grip on the edge of the counter had gotten painfully tight. She turned around and leaned against the counter, squinting her eyes shut to try to block out what she knew. With a squeal of anguish she let out a backwards kick to the counter, which she regretted immedietly as her ankle compacted against her shinbone. She hissed a few obscenities before walking back to her room, putting very little weight on her right foot. She began to slowly get dressed in the semidarkness, the smell of fresh coffee beginning to permeate her brain cells. She wouldn't be going back to sleep, she might never go back to sleep. She was alone in her room, and alone in the world. And while the thoughts of her past never let her be truly safe, at least she felt no danger when she was awake.

_paraded you around like a second place prize,  
hair done up black holes painted on your eyes.  
held a book burning in your back yard,  
while your parents looked on from their window, slightly scarred.  
and I watched with my shovel in hand,  
I have faith in you child. from his nightmares I plucked a plan:  
where this prck is revealed to the world as a wicked man.  
this is a prayer from your biggest fan._

_for the little victim inside everyone_


	2. bleeder

just this morning, when the world awoke to a light that immobilized  
stress and repression made a mess on my living room wall  
and on my front porch as i tried to escape  
smoldering in the acid and the dust at my feet  
was the venom of your tongue, and the stench of your voice  
burned a hole though my throat as the demons escaped  
forcing out the lies and protection i gave  
some aborting of everything you thought kept me safe  
and they ripped through this city on a rampage for flesh  
and a massacre ensued; with a venom and a stench much sicker than yours  
and you watching in horror as all eyes left your face  
killing your reign over everyone in this downtrodden place  
where we're sick enough to kill for the limelight we hate  
but i tell you, your sins here mean nothing to me  
there's a bigger world out there  
full of weaklings like me  
if that's what i am then just banish me there  
i favor my chances more in a world  
full of weaklings and liars and  
winged beasts born of fire  
those lies and that fire feed on people like you  
who always know what they're doing  
and keeping up appearances with the wrong crowd  
keeps your head on straight and the rushing of your ears too loud  
and you don't hear the jeers of those who see through what you say  
as they're creating a brand new army  
when will you forgive  
and let the angry flames lick your own tongue  
stoking a new fire with the arms and legs of your victims from your own selfish past  
i can't teach you anything that you don't want to learn  
and you'll never get anything you haven't yourself earned  
but i promise what you've done is all you deserve  
when someday you come to me  
knees to the floor  
eyes bleeding black  
with disease ridden flesh  
i will walk right on by  
your army's flag on my sleeve.  
and as my eyes close i walk away  
and see fire in the inside of my eyes i can smile while i cry.  
welcome back.

_for alex_


	3. in talking to the jewel thieves

him

we stare at the same sky  
through different windows  
sitting by them, like i know I'm not alone  
this is a new side of town for me  
with ghosts, and shadows, or a whisper of something old  
it is still home, missing some furniture to say the least  
but she's still there, as she always has been  
a carving above the door telling me all I need to know  
a place I can go when the night comes  
and the shadows stifle all

her  
grey doesn't suit me at all  
my eyes ache from the darkness  
my eyes beg for tomorrow in color  
for the sun to bring a brightness to this town, to fade this grey  
to the purest white  
come, pure white, and cover my face in forgiveness  
I will lie to my love  
when he walks back in, the one who took the color when he left

them  
I have nothing but love to offer  
I have known nothing but pain  
I can't save your past  
but I can burn your sins  
brighter than human eyes can bear  
where judges and priests have condemned, I will heal  
we could not save the ones we loved  
and curse ourselves for staying alive  
we can't return the things we stole,  
but we are justified

_for lovers in bad circumstances_


	4. this is not living

She's not sure what town she's in anymore. She doesn't know anything anymore. In a car with two people she barely knows, with the sun shining straight in her eyes. They sit in the front seat: a symbol of seniority, but glance back at her every now and then. They sing a Miley Cyrus song that plays on the radio. She picks at the already chipping nail polish on her thumb. Part of her wants to go home, part of her wants to stay in the car. An SUV driven by a seventeen year old who doesn't really know what she's doing causes a lot of bumping, swaying, and sharp turns. She dances to the music in the back seat, trying to fit in. If the car bounces her sideways, she sways to the music, if they go over a speed bump to fast, she nods her head to the beat. She takes her cues from the car. She's nauseous, and can tell there's still alcohol in her system. She told the girl in the passenger seat that she wanted to get drunk, that she wanted to lose control. But there were too many people and not enough booze. Just enough to burn her throat and make her dizzy. She was the only sober one there, if she was any kind of sober at all. That's all a matter of interpretation, if you think about it.

Back at home, she is alone. She showers with the stereo blasting, and sings quietly along to a Metro Station song, her voice hidden safely in the volume. Herbal Essences washes the stench of cigarettes out of her hair and replaces it with the fusion of acai berries and satin. She wasn't a smoker, and was proud that while she gave up her vow to never drink, she hadn't tried a cigarette. She was still too scared of those. She regretted not being drunker; she regretted not losing complete control and blacking out to hook up with a stranger. With a cringe she reminds herself that she's still a good girl on the inside. But she's made an awful lot of changes to her image, at least in her own mind.

Steam clouds her mouth, and he clouds her mind. He's made a permanent home in her brain and she hates it. He digs in and does everything she hates. He doesn't believe in her, he tells he when he thinks

she's wrong, he shows off his god complex, he doesn't listen, he treats her like a child, he makes her think too much, like now. She knows she's wrong, and she knows she's overanalyzing everything, but she can't exactly stop. He thinks she can. He'd be so much easier to deal with if she didn't like him so much. If she didn't like him, she could want what he wanted. Which she still isn't fully clear on. They've both got deadly personality flaws that alone can be survived, but together will kill them. She wishes she could be shallow, and be with a guy without getting attached. But she got attached to him before she was even with him, so what could be done? She tried to run, but he wouldn't let her. She wouldn't let herself. She ran, and he followed, and she never needed much convincing for anything. She's a hopeless romantic, and did things for him she'd never ever do, because she wanted him so badly. Just another thing to blow up in her face.

She's a stupid girl, who is stuck in the past, stuck in her problems. But for a girl like that, she certainly disregards mistakes in favor of doing them again, and she is certainly making no attempt to fix herself. You can't fix what's not broken, and almost no one would ever tell her she's broken. But two people know that she is. Him and her. Him and her together remind her of wedding cake toppers. Same height, he likes to wear black, she likes to wear white. Completely expressionless when put on the spot to be watched and gawked at, but who knows what they do when they're back in the box. They are married after all. But she never liked the idea of married life.

_for the kids i got drunk with, once and only once.  
and for the biggest egomaniac i know._


	5. my black dahlia

that smile rips your skin from ear to ear  
a grinning corpse to prance across the stage  
cut my strings, control is mine again  
I cannot scream, I will not break  
You're not my father anymore.  
A baby bird launched from the nest  
plummets and breaks her scull  
your safety net, you broke my fall  
and destiny is scorned  
Lies drips from your fingertips  
Murder dances on your tongue  
the lines blue between laughing matters  
and what is set in stone.  
Bleed for me, sympathy is such a lie  
open up your lungs to me, breathe in my curse.  
Your broken mind is breaking hearts  
we all deserve to be like you  
to die this sick, unending death  
a vampire in the sun

_for gerard arthur way_


	6. as you walk down the yellow brick road

Her flowers only smell as sweet  
as the plastic compost from which they grew.  
And they bloom in perfect tandem  
with the echoing garbage truck concerto.  
Forced into bloom  
to bring beauty to a wasteland.  
Planted to be ruined  
beneath a sky what would envy the bluest eyed girls.  
And she cries in isolation;  
tears pepper the razorblades, congregating at her feet.  
The whole world shudders in the wind  
with a chill not so acquainted with the season.  
She hasn't learned the tricks  
of toughening herself to the world.  
Her body soft and breakable,  
but she'll come back again.

_for the cherry blossom tree at my school_


	7. last resort

you are the last drop of my strongest vice,  
a drug, and drink, a forbidden kiss.

you are the last pint of blood in my veins,  
tired and worthless from doing single-rounds through my body.

you are the last breath of air in my lungs  
escaping through my throat like your own words have so many times  
you are the last line of my suicide note  
scribbled, barley legible, and read three hours to late.

you are my last resort.

am i the ugly forgettable reflection you used to see in the mirror?  
am i every personality flaw you just can't stand?  
every flaw and imperfection you ever blinked from your tired shining eyes  
i am.

_for pete._


End file.
